“The chain?” Clay asked.
“Yeah, the food chain. The supply chain. What we’ve been through these last three weeks is just the beginning for a lot of folks. When everything shut down, it set off a chain of events, like these farms and fields out here. If they don’t get fuel, then there will be no replanting. There will be no corn or other crops to ship out to the food companies. There will be no food for livestock. Everything will be on short supply from eggs, to milk, to you name it. Everyone without the means to produce their own food will be royally screwed. Even if this ends up just being a one or two month disruption, it’ll echo out for years to come. Just one catastrophe after another. The folks that stayed in the neighborhood, even if they survive, who’s going to be there to ship food to them next year? Who’s going to have the food to ship?”
“So, if everything is going to fall apart anyway, why are we going all the way to Alabama to live?” Jimmy asked.
“Because, your Great Uncle Thomas has a farm there. It’s secluded. We wouldn’t have to worry about folks trying to steal from us. There’s not nearly as many people in Alabama as there are up here. Besides, folks down there take care of each other. It’s a place where we can raise our own food and start a new life if we have to.” Scott said. He held his own doubts as to why he needed to get down there. All the reasons he gave were valid enough, but they could work out here just as well, once the roaming hordes died off. He hoped Thomas was ok. He wished they had left as soon as all the shit hit the fan. They should have already been down there. It was a good plan, when he had first thought of it, when he first realized they need to get the hell out Chicago. Now he supposed it was just as good a plan as any since he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.
Within half an hour of driving, they came to the town of Nottingham Woods and found it deserted. Random cars piled up all around the town and burned buildings bared their bones for all to see. “Why do you think this place is empty?” Leesha asked as they approached the outskirts of town. “There’re cars everywhere. Where’s all the people?”
“I don’t know, baby.” Clay said. “You’re right, there’re cars everywhere. Look at all of them stuck up there on the highway.”
Scott examined the GPS. “That’s the Ronald Regan Memorial Toll Way. Looks like people got stuck up there trying to get out the city.”
“That still don’t explain where everyone is.” Leesha said.
“Maybe it does.” Scott answered. “I’m guessing the folks that got on the toll way got stuck and flooded into the town. They probably ate up everything that was there. From the looks of the damage, maybe the locals fought with them over the food, or maybe they fought together with the second wave of folks that made it out of the city. Either way, that many people probably cleaned the place out and took off to find another place that still had something to offer.”
“I guess that makes sense, but wouldn’t they give them some food? I can’t believe folks would turn on each other over something as simple as food.” She said.
“Baby, would you let a stranger have or take your food?” Clay asked.
“I’d share it.” Leesha answered.
“And what then?” Scott asked. “When that was gone, would you keep sharing until everyone had nothing?”
Leesha didn’t answer. She sulked a little and fresh tears came to her eyes. Scott knew that he hadn’t made her cry. The situation had. Hell, he felt the same way.
They drove for over an hour without speaking, passing several small towns. The towns came in two types. The first type was the smoldering wreckage left after masses of people had swarmed through, much like what had been left of Nottingham Woods. This close to Aurora and Chicago, Scott had anticipated this. The masses that had left Chicago could have easily walked this far in a couple of days. They had to go somewhere, after all. Some of them had come this way and gutted the towns. He hoped that they had kept moving or stayed to the bigger roads that he was trying to avoid. With any luck, their accidental delay in the neighborhood compound would turn out to be a blessing in disguise, sparing them from the worst of the masses. Scott hoped some of them would die off or disperse into the countryside in smaller groups.
The second type of town provided a little more hope, but not much. These towns had tried to secure themselves similar to what Dabrowski had done in the neighborhood, except on a bigger scale. Old cars, cinder blocks, trees, garbage, and anything else that could be used to make a barrier had been used to create roadblocks around these towns. They gave Scott hope that if they did fail to get to Alabama, they might be able to live in a place like this. Out here, the town fort idea might work. The cloud that hung over that hope was that the towns had walled themselves off for a reason. They might not let newcomers in.
The family continued on, avoiding both types as best they could until they came to the town of Morris just after noon. Scott had reservations about coming into a town this large, but they had to cross the Illinois River somewhere. It seemed like as good of a place as any. “All right, Clay,” Scott said as he took down the GPS and held it over so that Clay could see it, “we’re going to turn onto Highway 47. That’ll take us by the fairground here and leave us a straight shot to the bridge.”
“Won’t that take us through the center of town?” Clay asked.
“Yeah, but after looking at the maps here, this is the closest place to cross.”
Minutes later, Clay led the convoy south onto Highway 47. They saw several stalled cars pulled off to the side of the road. Clay drove down the road until they saw Interstate 80. “Slow down, big guy.” Scott said.
“What’s up?”
“Check out the interstate.” Jimmy said. “There are eighteen wheelers blocking the road.”
“They look like they were put there on purpose. You think the local authorities did that?” Clay asked.
“That’s what I would do.” Scott said. “Let’s pull up slowly and see what’s going on.”
As they approached the bridge that the highway made over the I-80, Leesha cried out. “Stop the car, Clay!”
“What’s wrong?” Clay asked.
“Look over there. Are those people coming down the road?” She asked.
Scott looked to where Leesha pointed. The slight elevation of the bridge gave them a good view of I-80 and the north side of the town. He saw over a hundred refugees approaching from the town from the east. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?” Clay asked.
“Let’s hold up a minute.” Scott said. “Look at the city. It looks like they’ve set up barriers around the big building there. It looks like a hospital. They have the road blocked off. I don’t think the crowd has seen us. With any luck, we can blend in with the rest of the dead cars around here. Let’s see how the town reacts to the crowds.”
“Why do you want to see that?” Leesha asked.
“They have the road blocked, keeping us from getting across the river. If they let those folks in, they may let us get across.” Clay said.
“Exactly.” Scott agreed.
Scott got out and went back to the SUV. He explained the plan to JJ. “Be ready to get the hell out of here if things go south.” He turned and walked back to the Bonneville.
They watched the ragged group of refugees meander down the road and approach the town. They didn’t seem dangerous. As the first refugees neared the outer barrier surrounding the hospital, Scott and Clay saw them talk to the people guarding the town. Everything seemed amicable at first, but the gates didn’t open. While they couldn’t hear what was said, they saw the refugees tense and the discussion grow animated. The rest of the refugees arrived as the first wave rushed the barrier. The family watched as the first refugees to climb the wall fell back into the crowd. The sounds of the gunshots proceeded their fall seconds later. “That’s that.” Scott said. He turned to Clay. “Let’s get the hell out of here. There’s no way they’re going to let us through, especially not after this.” A barrage of gunfire emphasized Scott’s statement. The men gua
rding the walls fired into the crowd trying to disperse them. Scott saw the barriers fall to the refugees as the cars pulled away. He wished the residents well with their new guests.
“How are we going to get across now?” Jimmy asked.
“We’ll just have to try our luck further west. There’s another bridge at Seneca. I think it’s a much smaller town. Maybe we’ll have better luck there.” Scott said. He hoped they would. He hoped to just find one place that hadn’t been destroyed or refused to accept strangers.
Thirty minutes later, Clay turned onto Main Street in Seneca. He saw deserted neighborhoods on the northern outskirts of the city limits. He brought the car to a stop a couple hundred yards from the canal that cut through town. Six men guarded the vehicles that blocked the road. “What do you think, Scott?”
“I think we’ve found a place that has some good sense. Very clever. They’re using the canal like a moat, just like the castles back in the middle ages. I think we should pull up very slowly and see what they’re like. Leesha, you and James should get out and go get in the truck with Jan.” Scott said.
“But I wan…” Jimmy started.
“I don’t care, son. This could go really well or real bad. I want you back there with your mom and dad just in case things don’t go well.” Scott said.
“But…”
“Here.” Scott cut him off again. “I want you to take the GPS back to your dad. If things go bad, you guys will need it. I’ve programmed in the route to Thomas’ place. You guys get there or get somewhere safe as fast as you can. You hear me?” Jimmy hung his head. “You hear me, Jimmy?”
“Yes, sir.” He took the GPS and got out of the car.
As Leesha did the same, she turned back and put a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “I love you. Please be careful.”
Clay’s massive paw dwarfed her hand as he laid it on top of hers. “I will, baby. I love you too.”
Once the two had climbed inside the SUV, Clay pulled forward to the beginnings of the short bridge. Scott held up his hands as five of the six men held their guns at the ready. The sixth man, an older fellow with a gray goatee and a shotgun, walked forward. “Please get out of the car.” The man instructed. These men, in their civilian cloths and weapons, were obviously not part of law enforcement. Clay couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or not. The men exited the car. “So, what you folks doing in our little town?”
“We’re just passing through. We want to cross the bridge. Is that ok?” Scott replied.
The man looked the two over and asked, “Who’s in the truck back there?”
“My wife, my daughter, her husband, my grandchildren, and Mr. Tomin here’s girlfriend. We don’t want any trouble. We just need to get across the river… May we pass?”
“I don’t see why not.” The guard said. “We’re just looking out for the refugees drifting in from Chicago. Have you seen any of those folks out there?”
“In a way, we are those folks; but I’m guessing you mean the large groups of people looking for somewhere to go.”
“You guys look better off than the few refugees we’ve been hearing about over the police radios. Must be those other people. You seem harmless enough to me. So, have you had any run-ins with the other type?”
“Yeah. We just saw some up the road a little bit in Morris. We were going to cross there but happened to pull up right as a group of refugees attacked the place.” Clay said.
“No shit?” The man with the goatee asked. “We haven’t heard that over the scanners. I wonder what happened.”
“We don’t know. We left as a few hundred of them were coming off the I-80 and trying to get over the barriers. The guards started shooting at them, and we decided we needed to find another place to cross.” Scott said.
“Damn, Karl.” One of the other guards said to the man with the goatee. “We have to tell the mayor.” He turned and addressed Scott and Clay. “Would you folks be willing to tell the mayor what you saw?”
“What about our other car?” Scott asked.
“They’re welcome too.” Karl said.
Scott turned to go, but Clay hesitated and asked. “How are you folks doing inside?”
“I don’t follow.” Karl said.
Scott didn’t know what Clay was doing. “How are you guys on food and supplies?” Clay asked.
“We’re good.” Karl said. “We’re not going to steal anything from you, if that’s what you’re asking. We have a grain silo in town at the shipping docks. Luckily the damn thing was just about full when everything started to shut down with the terrorists and all. We got gas too. Had a tanker truck heading for somewhere up near Chicago when the riots broke out. The driver had a cousin living here and pulled in to visit family and let things calm down before he finished his route. He’s a town resident now. Isn’t that right Harry?” The man who had addressed him earlier nodded. “Mark here will take you over to the high school. That’s where the mayor set up after he pulled everyone back across the canal. So, you guys coming in or what?”
Clay’s face split into a grin. He climbed in the Bonneville and took the wheel. “That was good thinking, Clay. I must be slipping.” Scott said as he waved to the SUV with his good arm and climbed into the car.
“Don’t worry about it.” Clay said. He fired up the car and began to follow the man who had climbed into a small Nissan truck. “Just had to make sure these folks were legit.”
Their guide, Mark, entered a small office in the school administration section, leaving them to wait with the secretary. Short minutes later, he emerged and led them in to see the mayor. Mark made quick introductions for the group and moved back to stand by the door. A fat, bald man wearing wire rimmed glasses over his large green eyes greeted them from behind a wooden desk. “Good afternoon! I’m Tim Brack, the town mayor.” The fat man said. “Mark says that you have some news from our neighbors up in Morris. Tell me, what did you see?”
Scott and Clay gave the group’s account of the crowd at Morris while the rest stood in silence. The mayor listened to their account with a tense expression. He didn’t ask questions, but Scott saw the man mentally chewing over each word before digesting it. After they had finished giving their account, Mayor Brack rubbed his bald head and removed his glasses. “Thank you good folks for bringing us this news. We didn’t hear any of this on the police radios. That’s odd. Our chief of police and the police chiefs of the neighboring towns have been trying to keep up with each other. It’s been kinda off and on with the power being out and some of the towns running low on fuel for backup generators. I hope that’s all that’s wrong up in Morris and everyone up there is ok.
“Mark, go tell Mike that we need to double the guard at all town entrances for at least a week, starting immediately. If we do get any visitors, tell Garry to put them in the houses outside of the canal and we’ll feed them as best we can.” Mark nodded and left to carry the mayor’s orders to Mike, the Chief of Police.
“That’s very generous of you and the town.” Clay said.
“We have enough food in the grain silos to last our population more than six months, plus whatever fish we can pull from the river. The manager at the grain silo has been kind enough to donate their contents to the city and allow us to distribute it for the well-being of his friends and neighbors. We know things seem pretty bad out there right now, but the town believes that we just need to be able to hold out for about three months and everything should be fine. That’ll give the government enough time to handle the really bad areas and get everything moving again. We hope to help anyone who manages to get here survive until everything gets back to rights.”
“That’s a goodhearted plan, but, Mayor, it just wouldn’t be right not to tell you the rest of our story and give you all the information that we have. I’m afraid things are a little worse out there than you may have heard.”
“Oh? How so?”
Scott and Clay told their tale of escape from Chicago and the confrontations with the roaming bands of refugees.
Again, the mayor listened in his careful manner. The two men left out any mention of the people they had been forced to kill or injure on their journey. When Clay finished the tale and brought them current, Scott looked at the mayor again. “You see, Mr. Mayor, I think it’s going to be a lot longer than three months before the government fixes this, if they even can fix this. If people show up asking for food and sanctuary, you might need to turn them away or at least plan on something longer than three months.”
“I appreciate your concerns, Mr. Reed, but we are a Christian community and will help out those in need as much as we can. I do thank you for your inputs, and I will bring this up to the city council at our nightly meeting. I’ll push them to make plans for a longer timeline, like you suggested; but I imagine we’ll carry on with our good neighbor plan.
“And speaking of our good neighbor plan, you folks are welcome to stay here as long as you want. We have a few bunks left in the elementary school that we converted to housing if you want to live inside the canal perimeter, which I would suggest. But, if you want more privacy, we can also arrange for one of the houses outside the canal. Choice is yours.” The mayor said. “We also have a doctor here that can look at your arm. If there’s anything you need, just let Marshal, our Town Resources Coordinator, know and he’ll see what he can do. As of right now, the only thing we are not rationing out to people is gasoline. So… would you fine folks like to stay? We could use you on guard duty if you feel so inclined to help.”
Scott looked back to his family. The last few weeks had been hard on them. He didn’t like the give and let live attitude of this place, but it seemed safe enough. He hoped that these people were right and that they could handle any groups that showed up begging. He didn’t miss the irony of him, a beggar in his own right, being worried about them giving away too much and getting compromised. He knew it was a hard thing to do, to deny the needy; but when things were tough, the choice to give handouts or the guilt of not giving them could mean the difference between life and death for either side. The family looked at him, waiting on an answer. He churned it over in his head one last time. They would stay, but he would keep them ready to move out at the slightest hint of trouble. “Mr. Mayor, we accept. We would love to help you and your community and become part of it. Now, where did you say that doctor was?”
Fifty Falling Stars Page 22
